


Don't Carry It All

by tactile_introvert



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Bar, Bartender Castiel (Supernatural), Blackmail, Cas is mixed up with some pretty bad people, Cas is not all bad, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Emotionally Repressed Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, I feel like a twisted version of Oprah, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Self Esteem Issues all around, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:18:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tactile_introvert/pseuds/tactile_introvert
Summary: Dean has problems. Cas has problems. Put them together, and you get Cas orchestrating the kidnapping of Dean from the bar Cas works at.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was just tired. He couldn't handle the constant fights with Sam or Bobby, or hell sometimes both. He just needed to blow off some steam, maybe find a bar to recharge at. Either way, he was going to spend some time with Baby. He really loved that car. She couldn't be more perfect for him. All of the good memories of his life, the handful that he had, flashed before his eyes when he laid sight on her. She was all midnights in the car with Sammy, fireworks on the fourth of July, gifts at Christmas, and that one time Sam thought he could surprise Dean with a haircut.

So he took a ride in his most trustworthy, dependable friend. No one could really understand his love for the car, but he didn't need anyone to understand. They hadn't lived his life, so they wouldn't be able to understand.

As he drove, he found neon that read "Smoky Den Bar" and he decided he could go for a whiskey or five. He parked his black beauty in the beam of a light out of his trademark copious caution and sauntered in with the most nonchalance he could muster in his exhaustion. 

"I'll take a whiskey, or whatever else you got," Dean mumbled to the bartender. Speaking of, the piercing blue eyes he met were quite the draw. The mane of just between too long and not long enough black hair and the soft but angled jawline were a much needed distraction from his current mindset. 

"Coming right up. Haven't seen you around here before. Excuse me for asking, it's just that we don't see many visitors that come in at 7 o'clock on Wednesday nights," the bartender inquired.

"I'm just passing through and thought a break would be welcome after roughly seventeen hours in that car," he joked, trying to remain as cordial but dismissive as possible. 

"I see. Well, enjoy your stay. We've got quite the setup as you can see. Latest players said they found the missing striped 6 ball, so the pool should be up and running if you manage to find anyone to play. And the darts, well, I think we might still have a dart, and it might not even be the bloodstained one," came the compelling sales job.

"It’s tempting, I assure you," Dean replied, trying to sneak in a questioning tone so he could get an answer out of this confusing man.

"Well, if you truly are just passing through, there's not much of a chance I'll see your face anytime soon, so might as well use the opportunity to find a face to complain to. Name's Cas by the way," Cas came up to the bar with Dean's whiskey in his left hand and his right extended for a shake.

"Dean. And I guess I see your point. But only if you let me complain some too. God knows I could put a caffeinated five year old to sleep with my list," the reply was washed down with a quick sip and that glorious burn. Taking the hand in front of him, he noticed a great deal more callouses than he expected for a bartender in Wherever-the-hell, Idaho. 

“Seems reasonable. What’ve you got worth a bitchin’ session?” Cas scanned the room. Just the normal amount of hapless balds. He decided to pop out from the bar and head over to this rugged stranger. He certainly has the looks. 

“Well, my uncle’s been badgering me about getting my head out of work and having a life. Of course, he’s one to talk. He’s the dictionary definition of well-adjusted,” Dean spat out and knocked back a little more of his drink. 

“What’s so important that it’s got your uncle on your case?” Cas stared into the jade irises in front of him. He’d never seen such deep, vibrant eyes. They provided a nice contrast to the disheveled appearance and two-day stubble of the man. 

“He thinks he knows how to help me. He’s always been like this, just cause he’s the responsible one of our family. He might have an auto shop, but honestly it’s a stretch to call it that. More like a shack with a couple more wrenches than normal,” Dean’s mouth kept running despite the faint buzzing in his mind that wanted him to shut up and not involve anyone else in his problems. 

“Nothing like self-righteous relatives. I’ve had my fair share of that in the past,” Cas sympathized, although there was a tiny edge of stiffness to the remark, like he wasn’t used to these kinds of interactions. But he was the one who started the conversation; maybe he just wasn’t used to talking about his family.

“Anyway, Bobby’s not letting up, insisting I calm down and quit obsessing over my work. We had a bit of a fight, and now I’m dealing the best way I know how. Hence, my appearance at this fine establishment,” Dean joked, dismissing Cas’s tone for just general lack of social graces. He found that not everyone feels as comfortable around others as he does. Of course, his nonchalance is carefully crafted and anything but natural, but that’s neither here nor there. No need for himself to start the psychoanalysis process; Bobby and Sam get to keep that activity to themselves. Dean would much prefer making sure he survived the next two hours over spending them spilling his guts to the only family he has. 

Cas’s demeanor shifted a bit as Dean finished speaking. He seemed to have come to a decision that had been weighing on him for a while. “Yeah, he’ll do. Just the right combination. Not even much of a family left behind,” Cas thought.

“Well, we have quite the medicine cabinet here. Our Woe-be-gone is very popular. I don’t know if it’s good that the same people keep coming back to have more of it each night, but it sure sells well. Let me get you a glass,” Cas got up and made his way to the bar. Dean followed his path back behind the bar with his eyes. Dean watched as Cas picked up a bottle of vodka. 

“Now you’re speaking my language. I might just have to make you my pharmacy while I’m here,” Dean smirked as he commented. 

“Get in line. We’ve got quite the list here for a town of 25,000,” Cas said as he finished pouring the drink. Cas sauntered back over to Dean with a surprising amount of confidence, or at least, Dean would have been surprised if he wasn’t focused on the memory of the argument with Bobby.

“Thanks, I’ll take my chances. Let’s give your product a try,” Dean took a sip. Really, not much to write home about. But he managed a thank you and something close enough to a compliment for Cas. 

Then Dean started feeling a lot more drunk a lot more quickly than normal. It took about twenty minutes or so, but he really started to feel woozy, dizzy, and weak. He had enough brain function left to realize he’d been drugged, but he didn’t quite realize who did it before he faded into unconsciousness. 

Cas pulled out his phone and made a call to a number he had called regularly enough. He hoped this would make up for his three weeks without producing. 

“I’ve got one. I’m sending a picture over. Don’t know how long he’ll be pliant. When can you have someone over?”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys come to take Dean, and Cas gets in even more over his head

By the time a group came to collect him, Dean had been moved to a back room. Cas didn’t need to take any chances. Even if he was still two hours from the night rush, Cas needed to be extra cautious to make up for his mistake three years ago. Every time he revisits that night in his nightmares, he renews his vow to pay his debt to these monsters as soon as possible. Of course, they have all sorts of ways of twisting his arm and keeping him compliant; almost forty months worth of ways so far. 

So there was not much Cas could do but go about his life, scouting potential “recruits” as they called them. Cas never stopped using the more correct term, victim. The most recent addition was the most fit and handsome one Cas had ever seen. He was tempted to keep this Dean fellow around a little longer, maybe invite him over to help test out his new mattress. But, with the voice mail from one of Lucifer’s lackeys fresh in his mind from earlier that day, he seized the opportunity to get off their radar for the time being.

When the door opened and three men came in to pick up their newest asset, Cas quietly led them to the back room. He had seen the one who appeared to be in charge before. Alistair? It seemed like all their names started with A. 

“And why would this be of use to us? Other than his build,” Alistair questioned in one of the most condescending tones Cas had ever heard. 

“Well, I found out he has some family troubles, probably wouldn't be noticed if he didn't check in every night. He's got the muscles for manual labor. He sure is pretty though. If good ol’ Luci’s not getting any, he could grab some of that,” Cas quipped snidely. 

“Watch it. You know he doesn't take kindly to that sort of banter,” Alistair warned him, though the tone betrayed a bit of disrespect for the leader of the organization. “Anyway, we should grab this one for delivery. What’s the name?”

“Dean. Didn't catch a last name. Had a good conversation, though. Wish he didn't have to go,”Cas said, the guilt and regret rising higher than they ever had before. Maybe it was the smile.

“Ooh, got a new fling have we Cas? Maybe you should come with us to help him get used to life in the gang,” Alistair joked.

“Yeah, like I'm ever going back there willingly.”

“Lucky for you, Boss Man has requested your accompaniment in getting your latest acquisition to home base,” Alistair sneered, his lip pulling up in that infuriating way of his, “You have a perfectly good excuse to watch your new special friend here on his journey. Just better hope Lucifer’s asking for a game of checkers and not your head on a pike.” 

“Oh yeah, cause I wasn't doing anything with the rest of my week. I can't believe I got roped into this with you people,” Cas attempted rather poorly to hide his fear with sarcasm. “What the hell does Lucifer want with me? I’ve held up my end of the bargain. ‘Course he's a freakin crime lord, so he could just want to kill me for fun. Or maybe I've “served my purpose” and am now expendable.”

“Ah yes, I'm sorry to interrupt your week of serving the fine people of this town your goods. I'm sure you even have a Jeopardy show you want to watch tomorrow,” Alistair snickered, “Doesn't matter, Cas, you're climbing in with us. I'll let you be in with the delivery though. Don't pretend you haven't been sneaking glances his way the whole time.”

“Alistair, you really are a grade-A jerk, you know that?” Cas uttered the words without much thought, as his brain power was mostly occupied with dreading his meeting with Lucifer and anticipating a long car ride staring at Dean. 

“Oh, stop now, you're making me blush, Cassie!” Alistair joked.

And Cas could do nothing but watch as Dean was carried to the van. He took one look back at the bar, and hopped up into the back with the cargo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is still very much a work in progress. I don't know how frequently I'll be updating, but I hope to get some good work done by the end of this week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The van ride with Dean and Cas

When Dean fully regained consciousness, he was lying on the floor of a van with a massive headache. His years of being taken for this or that pagan sacrifice kept him from moving too much. He couldn't let anyone know he was waking up. So he tried to take in as much of his surroundings as he could. 

Unfortunately, his eyesight wasn't very helpful, for he was staring toward the front of the van straight into the back of another seat. He moved on to testing his range of motion. Of course, he could only risk moving his extremities a couple centimeter at most. His main objective was discovering any potential restraints. And of course, he found ropes around his wrists, ankles and knees. That bastard really did his homework; the knots barely had any give. 

What was his name again? His brain supplied the name Cas along with a very helpful image of his smiling face and strong, piercing gaze. 

_Damn, why is it always the hot ones? Would it kill a monster to give a guy some hope that his type wasn't going for the jugular every time?_

Dean let out a tiny huff of frustration and went back to assessing the situation. He couldn't smell anything other than faint mildew and sweat. The mildew he chalked up to old, creepy monster van aromas, and the sweat he had to assume had its origins close to home. Of course he had to smell like BO. What else could he expect when he had to stay as silent and still as possible for an undetermined amount of time. 

“Are you gonna say hi?” Cas’s voice rang out in the relative silence of the moving van. 

“I don't think that's the first word that would've come out of my mouth. Probably more along the lines of ‘What the fuck, man?’ or possibly something even more colorful,” Dean spoke into the seat in front of him.

“Well, I can't say I don't deserve that sentiment-”

“Yeah, cause you do, you psychopath. Where the hell are we going? And why is your voice behind me? Who's driving this thing?”

“Well, I'm afraid I don't know exactly where we're going. Alistair neglected to mention the precise location of the headquarters and placed me in a position in the van that conveniently has no view of the road. As for who's driving, I would hazard a guess that Alistair had one of his goons take the wheel. Probably Astaroth, she seemed like the most capable one,” Cas explained, as if this were a minor setback in his evening plans instead of an active abduction. 

“Thank you for your analysis, Cas, was it? You seem to be rather calm about your part in kidnapping me for whatever scheme you lunatics have up their sleeves,” Dean said as he struggled to flip around and face Cas. Dean tried not to let on any of his thoughts about Cas’s true nature, somewhat because he had never heard of such an organized hierarchy in any kind of monster nest before. Sure, vamps had their version of structure, but it was mostly just the leader then everyone else. These guys had a “headquarters” and what seemed like a level of bureaucracy that would make local PTA’s jealous. 

“I can assure you that I wasn't always this calm. I wasn't always part of this machine, but life is full of surprises, and some lead you down the most unexpected roads,” Cas delivered with what could've either been irony or contempt for his former life.

“What's with the vocabulary shift? I feel like I'm talking to Merrimack Webster himself, not the guy behind the bar however long ago that was,” Dean said, slipping in the time portion as an attempt to get Cas to divulge how much of it had passed. Of course, that information only does so much good when it is the only information to be had. It was a start, though, and Dean wasn't about to give up that chance.

“I have found that my heightened syllable count impresses few people at the bar, so I've adopted a more suitable persona for my bartending. I do like the way I speak outside of the bar, though, so I try to keep my vocabulary sharp for when I'm not confined by my job,” Cas explained.

“Well, I'm so glad my kidnapper got to study his SAT lists in high school,” Dean uttered indignantly, finally shifting to see Cas’s face. He looked thoroughly impassive, but of course, that was a facade. Dean had plenty of practice looking through people's facial expressions and body language, but he had to admit, Cas’s wall of nonchalance was rather impenetrable, at least to his drug-addled mind. 

“You know, I didn't have to start this conversation with you. I could have just watched you continue to timidly test your bonds and eventually discover the other breathing behind you. I figured you could use the company,” said Cas, letting some of his annoyance at Dean slip into his voice.

“Yeah, I'm so very grateful for my magnanimous abductor. If it's all the same to you, you can shove all that screwed up benevolence right up your ass,” Dean raised his voice a bit at that, against his better judgement. 

“You lovebirds better keep it down back there. We can always go back to our previous method of ensuring compliance, Dean,” a slick voice came from the front of the van, “Lucky for you, we are only five minutes away from our destination, so just sit tight my lovelies.”

Dean held his tongue, mostly because he was about to give a serious expletive explosion to this driver person, and he would rather not be unconscious for the opportunity to get a sneak peek at his surroundings.

Cas also showed remarkable self-restraint, because he knew Astaroth was one of Alistair’s nost loyal lackeys, and Alistair already seemed to disapprove of Cas’s general existence. At least, that was what Cas got out of their last conversation. Alistair had a funny way about him that conveyed displeasure extremely well, but its cause was often left ambiguous. 

So when the van doors opened to the evening sky, both Dean and Cas had more than a few reasons to be afraid of the night’s activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break in uploading. I had a minor surgery this week, but I should be more regular soon. And we can all get back to our regularly scheduled torture of these beloved characters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas meets with Lucifer and gets quite the assignment.

Cas couldn't even get a last look at Dean before he was dragged away by a couple of goons. He would have liked to at least make eye contact with him to attempt to communicate his guilt and remorse over the situation, but he was stripped of his chance at closure with the man with forests in his eyes. Cas had to remind himself that with his job, any attachment to potential victims would only cause him more inner turmoil than he already had. He didn't think he could stand the wracking guilt that came with sending these men off to do God knows what. If he was attracted to any of them, it would get at least twice as bad during the nights when he reflected on how terrible of a person he was. He had to resign himself to the fact that he would never see Dean again, and that Dean most likely hated him more than anything in this world.

Because Cas was somewhat trusted, at least more than Dean, he got to get out of the van on his own. Outside the car, he met the henchman that would escort him to wherever they wanted him to go. It was getting pretty late, around ten thirty at night, so Cas didn't think Lucifer would want to meet with him now. 

He followed evil goon #2 down a grimy hallway, the lights dim and the space constricting. It felt like the building itself was sucking our his life. Cas couldn't decide if the the mustard yellow floor tiling or the filth building up in the grout was more sickening. After a somewhat lengthy walk down the hall, Cas's escort stopped in front of a rather underwhelming office door. After the buildup of crawling through a hallway that seemed to be ready to swallow them whole, Cas expected something more impressive. The only visible signifier was a name placard reading Lucifer di Angelo. Cas's escort knocked on the door to announce his arrival and opened the door to usher Cas in.

Inside, office was the complete opposite of the decaying hallway. Ornate rugs, light fixtures, and wooden chairs created a sophisticated though somewhat pompous air. If you could create a pompous air in a room attached to a hallway in such a condition. They were in a small receiving room with about four seats and a disgruntled receptionist. He looked to be in his late forties, if the scraggly beard and tired eyes were any indication. His piercing gaze questioned the newcomers.

"Do you have a reason for interrupting the boss?" he asked. 

Ugly answered, "Castiel Novak here, per boss's request," and clapped Cas's shoulder condescendingly. Cas decided to ignore the taunting and get ready for his imminent meeting.

"Castiel, huh. Well, I'll let him know. I don't think I've ever seen you at headquarters before. I'm Crowley, assistant/receptionist with a bit of accounting thrown in too," Crowley said, scoffing a bit at all his responsibilities and the under appreciation he gets for them. Cas saw him hit a pager, but when he made no move to speak into the device, Cas took the opportunity to talk.

"I work in... recruitment, you could say. I don't have a reason to stick around here when the people I can... convince to join us are out there," Cas gestured to the door. He didn't want to say what he really did out loud because he was afraid some of his self-loathing and disgust would deep out. And, when you're meeting the higher-ups of a crime syndicate, disgust and loathing were not the signals the people who made it home alive gave.

"Well, welcome Castiel. I don't know what di Angelo wants you for, but I wish you good luck," Crowley said. 

"I thought you were his assistant. Don't you know his schedule or something?" Cas questioned.

"I know what he wants me to know, nothing more, nothing less. If he didn't tell me about you, he had a reason. I'm not about to bring this up to him in a formal complaint. Giving him a reason to be angry with you is never a smart move," Crowley explained.

Cas swallowed a bit harder than he planned to. He hoped Lucifer wasn't angry with him, but why else would he be called to his office? He didn't seem like the kind to reward employees for a job well done. Hell, Cas wasn't even getting paid. The threat on his life those years ago had added a degree of desperation to his negotiating.

Cas jumped when he heard the beep of the pager.

"And that's di Angelo saying he's ready to see you now. Good luck in there," Crowley said, directing him to the door to the left of the reception desk. Cas couldn't decipher how sincere that last part was, but he has always had trouble with sarcasm, so he just went along with it. 

He swallowed and steeled himself so he could begin walking to Lucifer's office. He hated how tense he was; it's just a meeting. A meeting with one of the most feared crime bosses in North America. Ok, he could allow his palms to be that sweaty on the doorknob. But he couldn't show this to Lucifer. No, he had to get control of his stupid breathing and stupid heart rate and stupid squeaky voice so he doesn't get trampled immediately by the Boss.

"Why hello, Castiel. Nice of you to drop by," Lucifer drawled.

"Thank you for inviting me, sir," Cas responded diplomatically.

"You know, you remind me of my brother. I can't quite put my finger on it, but you have his aura about you," Lucifer's tone wasn't quite complimentary, so Cas was confused.

"Thank you, sir."

"Michael is the chief of police here. He put me in jail my first time. His righteousness is sickening."

Cas went quiet after that revelation. How does he respond to that? He had the sudden urge to check his watch to gauge just how long it took him to completely screw his life over. He decided against fidgeting at all and just stood there. He's always been good at keeping eye contact, but this man is beyond unnerving. He dropped his gaze to the floor out of a combination of fear and shame. He looked up when he heard a chuckle. 

/That little bastard is enjoying this. He wants me as uncomfortable as possible./

Cas didn't even get a chance to collect himself because Lucifer's voice rang out carrying a terrifying question.

"Do you know why you're still alive, Castiel?"

Cas definitely did not like the sound of this, but Lucifer was looking at him expectantly like the asshole that he was. He cleared his suddenly parched throat. He'd talked his way out of death before; he can manage it again.

"I-I am useful to you. I bring you men. I recruit people so you have people to carry out your plans. Just today I brought you another man. Healthy, young, perfect for any kind of labor," Cas was definitely going hate himself for this weird sales job he was giving for an unwilling human being. That is, if he ever walked out of this room. 

"Yes, I guess you have served a purpose these three years. But tell me, how many people do you think could do your job? It would do you good to realize you are entirely expendable. The minute you become more trouble than you're worth, you're done with us. And we can't just let you go free knowing what you know, of course. My suggestion to you is that you follow our agreement a little more closely, because you have my attention, and I tend to fixate on imperfections," Lucifer explained, leaving Cas wide eyed in disbelief. 

"Of course, sir. I'm sorry for falling behind. I just had to move to a new town to keep a low profile and I had to find a job so I could get some money and meet potential recruits. I swear it won't happen again. I'll make sure of it," Cas promised, trying to rein himself back in after he felt he was rambling a bit. 

"You know what, I'm not entirely convinced. In fact, I think you need some examples of just what happens if you step out of line again," Lucifer said, letting the threat hang in the air.

Cas was close to breaking down completely at the implication of those words. He focused on his breathing, specifically making sure his lungs were still working. He tried to compose himself enough to come up with any kind of response when Lucifer began again.

"Oh don't worry, it's not for you. I just need you to oversee the processing of our new acquisition. Alistair tells me he needs a bit more persuasion than normal. He's secured right now, but he's not ready to join our cause just yet. I want you to help him along and experience firsthand what we can do to those whose vision doesn't quite line up with that of the organization," Lucifer said, as slippery as ever. 

Cas blinked a couple times in response. Everything seemed to slow down a bit after Lucifer finished. The conversation had seemed to be going at breakneck speed, but now it slowed to a crawl. He had trouble processing the fact that he was not in immediate peril. He was not to be the one on the rack. No, he was going to be the one and only torturer for Dean. As soon as he pictured Dean in his mind, battered and bloodied by his hand, the world resumed its normal pace around him, maybe even a bit faster. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to come up with something of a suitable response to this revelation, but he was coming up short.

"Run along now, I have much more to occupy my time than you having some kind of breakdown in my office," Lucifer snarled. 

Cas took that dismissal and ran with it, barely even looking at Crowley on his way out. He stopped and leaned on the wall outside the office. 

_What am I doing? How do I get out of this? How do I torture anyone? No, stop. This is insane. I'm not torturing Dean. I'll find some way out of this. Lucifer can go to hell. Except he can kill me whenever he wants. And Dean will still get tortured. Basically nothing good comes of my resistance._

Cas started walking. Where, he didn't know. He just had to move. He found himself pacing the same four meters back and forth until a goon came up to him and told him to follow. Cas felt his legs moving before he realized he was following him. Cas was already a coward; what's one more craven act to punctuate the past three years?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's welcome party to headquarters. Not really welcoming, not really a party either...

As soon as the doors to the van opened, Dean made sure to keep his eyes peeled for any bit of scenery he could use to piece together his location. He thought he saw an entrance to a warehouse, but warehouses were rather common in his line of work. All kinds of creepy crawlies liked to set up shop in the abandoned spaces, probably for the air conditioning.

He debated whether to keep his mouth shut to appease these monsters or to see what info he could get out of them. He didn't get much time to mull it over, though. Two burly guys, or whatever they actually were, crawled in extraordinarily quickly. One grabbed Dean's upper body, and the other grabbed his legs to drag him out. Dean never got to see outside, though. Instead, he felt a pinprick in his shoulder and drifted off to the sound of grunts from the grunts as they started carrying him out of the van.

When he woke up, Dean felt more disoriented than ever. He opened his eyes to utter darkness. He didn't feel a blindfold on his face, so he figured the room must be pitch black. Dean noticed an ache in his shoulders, and when he tried to move his arms, he felt them tied securely. His wrists were separate, so he suspected he was tied to some kind of low beam or horizontal pipe. He found that his feet were also still bound at the ankles for reasons he could only imagine. 

And Dean tried to avoid using his imagination whenever possible; there was a lot of dark there, and what he was willing to confront wasn't really helpful for the present circumstances. What he wasn't willing to confront was going to stay up there and visit during nightmares. 

_Well, now that I'm scared of my own mind, I think I can officially count myself with the crazies. Not like I wasn't before. God, it's not like normal people go throwing themselves into the jaws of who-knows-what. But that's just who I am. Three parts martyr complex, four overbearing brother, two parts stubborn bravado, and one part scared shitless. Who wouldn't be proud of that report card?_

When he realized hating himself, while a tempting and all together too familiar pass time, wasn't going to help him out of this hideout, he started to gather his observations about his captors. First of all, they were incredibly well organized. Honestly, he thought a recruitment team and a whole spectacle before he inevitably got sacrificed or eaten or whatever were over a lot of everyday monsters' heads. Which left the possibility of an alpha with a taste for Winchester, a god or goddess particularly interested in the preparation of their Keep-Me-Happy Meal, or maybe a few demons were cooking up something. As long as that something wasn't him, Dean stood somewhat of a chance at surviving long enough to find out what the black-eyes wanted. 

His second and unfortunately last clue was the darkness he'd traveled under and was currently enveloped in. This one was about as helpful as the knowledge that he was in a warehouse, though, because the pool of baddies didn't shrink one bit. Too many nocturnal freaks out there, and the ones previously thought of didn't have any aversion to darkness either.

In addition to the sore aching, he felt a cramp forming in his right shoulder from his position, and he tried the ropes around his wrists again, but that only earned him worsening rope burn and worsening frustration. Damn, these people knew their way around a knot. 

Other than the stress on his back and shoulders, he didn't have any pains to deal with. Of course, he couldn't do anything for his shoulder as he was, but more pain would be pushing unbearable, especially when he had no idea how long he was to be kept in the dark here. 

Suddenly, Dean thought he heard laughter. It was the kind of full-blown maniacal chortle he'd only heard in movies. It was so exaggerated that he had to be hallucinating it. The sleeper drugs; that was it. The longer it persisted, the more sinister and slippery it sounded. 

"Welcome to the Ninth Circle, Dean. I regret that we couldn't have had better accommodations for you, but we just had to get you in as soon as possible!" the slick voice permeated the room. 

Dean tried to zero-in on where it had come from, but the echoing and bouncing of the sound only confused him more. He must be in a large, non-carpeted room. Course, he could've guessed that based off the warehouse entrance he'd spied earlier. After he had puzzled that out, it took a bit for Dean to tackle the meaning of the greeting he had just heard. 

_The fuck is the Ninth Circle? Some kind of cult? Had to get me in? Sounds like they've been saving me a spot for a while. Can't wait to step on up to the altar to get mutilated for the goddess of the harvest./_

_But, they didn't use my last name. If someone had a problem with me, they'd have to know who I am, right? Or maybe I'm just_ that _famous in the monster world._

Dean let out an amused huff and immediately froze as he listened for his enemy's reaction. A bead of sweat forged a path from his hairline to his jaw. He still couldn't see, which bothered him a hell of a lot. 

"Whatcha laughing at, Dean? Are you not pleased with our service? I assure you, we didn't need to knock you out both times. We could have just as easily used a paralytic and skipped out on the ropes. Although, when we've used that approach, the recruit tends to hyperventilate for some reason. Maybe they're just not used to seeing their limbs not respond to their commands," the voice's terrifying diatribe concluded. 

"Sorry, but I'm not one for pleasantries. What are you doing and why am I here? And why are the damn lights off? I can't see shit!" Dean probably could have worded that more tactfully, but this guy was creeping him out, and that's saying something considering his line of work. Additionally, nothing this guy was saying lined up with anything he'd heard from any cult members or alphas or really anything he'd experienced before. He supposed demons were still on the table, but they would know his last name, right? We're these guys really just human? 

Every light in the room flicked on at that moment, and Dean's corneas protested fiercely. He snapped his eyes shut and listened to his monologue-prone captor.

"Is that better for you, hon? I know it's hard to be in the dark about these things, so let's shed a little light on your upcoming role in the Ninth Circle. You've got the looks of a leading man, but that privilege comes after you've shown us your cooperation," the man behind the voice was just coming into focus once Dean's eyes adjusted. Everything about him was as slick, snide, and sinister as his voice. And he was just close enough to smell, too.

"What the fuck are you talking about? What the hell do you want fro-" a hard punch to the gut cut off that line of interrogation. Dean realized he might want to rethink his approach for getting answers, considering his current compromising position. 

"Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean. You would do well to wait until I ask you a question to speak. This is the second outburst from you yet. One more strike, and you're out."

Dean focused on the pain in his stomach. Pain was familiar, solid, expected. Everything his current situation wasn't. He glared into the man's eyes, pretty much certain that he was nothing but a man. That scared the crap out of Dean for all kinds of reasons, but burying his emotions was his specialty, so he put it to use now.

"That's better, isn't it Dean Bean?"

"Say that one more time and I'll-"

"What exactly are you gonna do Dean? Cause right now, I'm looked at a helpless prisoner who doesn't even know why he's here, much less what his captors can really do to him. Don't think that's the smartest place to be making threats from."

Dean was a bull and this freak had a red cape waving furiously in front of his eyes. He knew he shouldn't talk, but that was about all he wanted to do right now. Each second that passed found Dean more red-faced and furious.

"As entertaining as this is, Dean Bean, I do have a job to do that requires you to be alive, and at the rate your face is turning purple, I don't trust you not to make a deadly mistake."

Dean registered those last two words not a moment too soon. He remembered where he was, and what he should be doing if he wanted to have a pumping heart on his way out of here. He let a heavy exhale carry out as much anger as it could. The fiery inferno inside cooled to a bonfire.

"Now that I've got your attention, welcome to the Ninth Circle. We are the biggest crime syndicate in North America. We've really branched out in the last couple years. We've added smugglers, spies, and whores to our team, but bigger goals need bigger work forces. Enter Dean, unattached drifter with family troubles and at least three fake ID's. You don't seem to be the kind who would pass up an opportunity to put food on the table. And, there's barely anyone to miss you. So, we're offering you a chance to be in our organization. We've got a place for you to stay and consistent food. What do you say?"

Dean stared into the man's eyes, took a long deep breath, and spat in his face.

"That's my answer for you, you piece of shit."

Dean watched the man bring a hand up to his face to wipe off the spit. Then, the guy took out a cell phone and sent a quick message somewhere. That should raise a few alarms for Dean, but he was too focused on how fitting it was to see the glob of saliva right in the middle of his right cheek.

"Thank you, Dean. Your decision makes my job so much more enjoyable."

The right hook to Dean's jaw hit him like a freight train. He felt the bruising force, but the pain only truly registered after the other side of his jaw got the same treatment. The punches kept raining down, sometimes the jaw, sometimes stomach. This guy sure knew where to put them. Dean tried to think of every beating he'd endured up to this point, and how much worse they'd been. 

"This lesson in respect is coming to you courtesy of Alistair. If you can hang on for just a couple more minutes, I'll introduce you to my co-host,"

Dean wasn't listening; he was too focused on not showing how much pain he was in. He wasn't going to give this psycho the satisfaction. He resigned himself to reflexive grunts, but that was all he was willing to give.

His resolve was waning though, especially after a surprise assault on his left side left him wondering if he had broken a floating rib or two.

"Ooh, another winner from yours truly,"

The onslaught finally ceased, and Dean took a shuddering breath, greeted by a distinct sharp pain where his ribs should be. He looked towards a new source of light in the room, and saw the dark-haired psychopath from the van. 

"Hello, Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can leave a comment or something if you want. I was really nervous during this chapter, but whatever. I hope you're having a good day!


End file.
